Green, Green Grass Of Home
by Scribblesinink
Summary: After he's delivered the bomb to Texas, there's only one thing left that Jake desperately wants: to go back home to Jericho. Part of Awesome!Jakeverse, the shared post-season 2 verse being written by tanaqui and myself.


**Author notes**: Part of Awesome!Jakeverse (link to master list is in my profile), the shared post-season 2 verse being written by Scribbler and tanaqui. Ties in directly with Tanaqui's _The First Seventeen Hours_. As always, thanks to Tanaqui, without whom the story wouldn't read half as smoothly.

**Green, Green Grass Of Home**

**By Scribblesinink**

From the corner of his eye, Jake observed the Texan MP next to the door out the hallway. The man appeared indifferent to Jake's presence, but Jake had a strong suspicion that if he tried to walk out through that door, he'd discover the soldier would prove to be not so unconcerned after all. The thought set him on edge; Chavez might've said the Texans didn't consider him or Hawkins under arrest, but he sure felt far from a free man.

They'd come for him at the Gateway Lodge early that morning, announcing, "The governor wants to see you." Without giving him much chance to ask questions, they'd steered him to a black suburban with tinted windows, driving him off base to a building somewhere in San Antonio that Jake assumed was the governor's office.

And then they'd left him cooling his heels in this hallway for a long time.

It was maddening, to say the least. But since he basically owed the governor his life, he reckoned he could cut the man some slack. Not to mention that Todd must have a lot on his plate; he was on the edge of a war with Cheyenne when only yesterday morning he'd been very close to aligning himself and Texas with Tomarchio and his cronies.

Jake rubbed at his face. Despite a couple of hours of deep sleep in an actual bed, he still felt tired and worn out. At least they'd allowed him time for a quick shower and a shave before they whisked him away, and someone—he suspected Chavez—had left a pair of clean jeans and a shirt in roughly the right size. It was far from adequate attire to meet with a state governor—or the leader of an independent nation—and his mother would've had a thing or two to say about it if she knew, but Jake had suffered worse indignities, and the world was no longer the same. Old rules no longer applied.

At last, the door to the conference room opened, and Jake was asked to enter. He followed the aide inside and glanced around. An oval table of gleaming dark wood dominated the middle of the room, with people wearing business suits and serious expressions seated in leather chairs around it. He recognized a few of the faces from the hangar the night before. Chavez was also there. He gave Jake a small nod of encouragement when he caught Jake's eye.

A man in well-cut suit, exuding an air of easy confidence, got up and walked around the table. "Mr. Green, it's good to meet you. Governor Todd." He held out his hand. "It seems Texas, and the country, owes you a debt of gratitude."

Jake shook the offered hand. "So, you confirmed the origins of the bomb?"

"Yes." Todd waved him to the empty chair next to Chavez. "Please, have a seat." He returned to his own place at the head of the table. "However, there are a couple things that are still unclear. We were hoping that you could fill us in on some of those."

Jake sat down. "I'll try," he said hesitantly. He wished Hawkins was there. "But you should really talk to Hawkins."

"Oh, rest assured—." One of the governor's aides, the same woman that had greeted them at the airfield the day before, reshuffled the pile of documents on the table in front of her. "—we'll talk to Mr. Hawkins as soon as he feels better."

Jake nodded. Hawkins had come out of surgery all right, but the air force doctors had explained that he was being kept heavily sedated. Between the gunshot wound and the blood loss, it had been touch and go for a while. But the docs were hopeful Hawkins would make a full recovery. It would just take some time, they'd said.

"So...." The woman pulled a sheet out of the pile and squinted at the print. "If you could explain...?"

For a long time, the governor and his people grilled Jake on just about every conceivable subject to do with the bomb. How had it come to be in his possession; how had it ended up in Cheyenne; what was Hawkins' role in all of it; what was Jake's...? He tried to answer them as fully and honestly as he could, even if some of the story was based on hearsay. When his mouth grew dry, they offered him water; when he said he didn't know, they nodded blankly and made a note. Chavez filled in some of the details Jake didn't have, until finally, there were no more questions.

Exhausted, Jake slouched back into his chair, sipping some more water. His stomach was an empty pit under his ribs: breakfast had been a few sugary donuts on the trip over. And that had been hours ago.

For a long minute after Jake finished speaking, the room remained silent. Finally, Todd cleared his throat. "Well, now. Thank you for your time, Mr. Green. I think that's all. We'll confirm your story with Mr. Hawkins, naturally, but I believe I speak for all of us when I say that one thing has become very clear: the Cheyenne government knowingly falsely accused North Korea and Iran. And that either they were behind the attacks themselves or, at the very least, knew about them and did nothing to stop them." He glanced around the table for confirmation, and people nodded in agreement. The governor's face set in a hard line. "And in my book, that makes them guilty of mass murder, and what I think pretty much amounts to a coup d'etat."

"What happens next?" Jake asked.

"Well, we've already sent the findings regarding the bomb's origins to Columbus." Todd steepled his hands in front of him and regarded Jake. "We'll give them a full transcript of your account as well, of course. I'd expect that they and we will work together to put an end to Cheyenne's illegal administration. After that...?" He shrugged. "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"What about Jericho?" Jake put his glass back on the table. "They'll need help."

"Jericho?" For a moment the governor looked at a loss, and then his face cleared. "Ah, your hometown. Yes, I expect you're worried." Todd pushed back his chair. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for them at the moment."

"What?" Jake shot up straight. "Cheyenne has declared Jericho in open insurrection. They can't—."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Green. But we cannot afford to come to the aid of every single town in enemy territory that asks for it. It's impossible. For now, Jericho is on its own."

Jake jumped to his feet, leaning balled fists on the table. "You don't get it. Beck's gonna—!"

A hand on his arm stopped him mid-sentence. It was Chavez. "Jake, come on." He spoke softly but firmly. "You know that's not how it works."

Jake shook off the hand and glared at Chavez for a long moment, before he forced himself to calm down. In his mind, he heard an echo of his mother's voice from long ago. _Temper, Jake. Temper. _Chavez was right: yelling at Todd wasn't going to convince the governor.

He dropped back into his seat, suddenly too tired to stay on his feet any longer. "Is there a way I can send a message, at least? Let them know Hawkins and I made it? That we're okay?" He hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, and Hawkins' wife should know her husband was gonna be all right.

"That much I believe we can do." The governor gave him a compassionate look. "Mr. Chavez can help you with that. I'll see to it that the communications office at Lackland provides what you need."

o0o

The ninety minutes after Jake left his cryptic message in the hands of Lackland's communications staff to be faxed to Jericho were among the longest of his life. He spent most of them pacing the drab hallway outside the communications office, not cleared to be allowed into the room to wait by the fax machine. Chavez had left to do Jake didn't know what—some spook thing, he supposed—after helping him figure out what to put into the fax and making sure it'd gotten sent. And while the duty sergeant had promised any incoming reply would be handed to him ASAP, an hour and a half with nothing to distract him was plenty enough time for Jake to start seriously second-guessing himself.

Maybe a fax wasn't the best way to try and get in touch after all, despite Chavez' assurances that it was least likely to get intercepted by Cheyenne. Or maybe Heather had had enough and quit working for Beck. Maybe she simply wasn't around at City Hall today. Perhaps the message had been too cryptic and she hadn't picked up on any of the hints that should've told her it came from him. Or perhaps—and Jake really hoped this in particular was not the case—Beck had figured out what she'd done to the aerial survey report.

Remembering his own imprisonment at the hog farm, his stomach clenched at the thought of what Beck might do to Heather if he learned she'd betrayed his trust.

He should never have gotten her involved; he and Hawkins should've found another way to get to that survey report. If something happened to Heather because of him....

Each time the door to the communications room opened, Jake snapped his head up, heart thudding with hope—and each time he let out out a long breath filled with disappointment when he saw it was merely another junior officer rushing in or out, carrying papers and thick manila folders back and forth.

As he waited,Jake's thoughts drifted back home. He'd left Jericho in such a hurry he hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to anyone, except for a quick hug and a "be careful" to Emily, and her promise she'd tell his mother he'd had to go. His mom would be worried, and leaving Eric to deal with the fallout from his escape just wasn't fair. The bomb had been more important, though. But now that it was delivered, there was nothing keeping him in Texas, and he simply couldn't wait to return to Kansas.

He shook his head, the irony not lost on him. Less than a year ago, Jericho had been about the last place he'd wanted to go back to. But now...? He couldn't get there fast enough. Problem was, he had no clue how. Without papers, a car, or any other possessions than the clothes on his back—technically, not even his, either—he was dependent on Texan goodwill to help him get home. And Todd had made it quite clear Jake couldn't expect much assistance.

The door opened again, and Jake once more glanced up expectantly.

"Mr. Green?" The woman in the doorway was young, wearing blue service dress, her blond hair pulled back from her face and half-hidden under a garrison cap set on her head at a precise angle.

He reached her in three long strides, before she'd even finished speaking.

"This came in on the special number." She offered him a single page."It seems rather nonsensical to us, so this is likely the answer you were waiting for."

He snatched the fax out of her hands, quickly scanning the smudged lines, before looking up to meet her gaze. "Yes. Yes, it is." He couldn't help the relieved grin that broke on his face. "Thank you."

"I hope it's good news." She offered him a quick nod before turning back into the room and closing the door behind her.

Jake found himself a seat on a chair a little further down the hallway and read the fax more thoroughly. It came from Heather, of that he was certain, and that little fact was enough for some of the weight to drop off his shoulders. But as he read on and tried to decipher her makeshift code, he frowned, scanning along the blurred lines with a finger. Finally, he sat back and blew out a breath. What the hell was she saying?

Who was Eddie Lider? Could she mean Beck? Wasn't Beck's first name Edward? He tried to remember for certain, mouthing along as he re-read the next lines. Was she saying Beck had broken away from Cheyenne? That he was working with Jericho now, not against them? It seemed impossible.... Jake scratched the back of his neck, pondering. Maybe the fax was a trap? Someone could've intercepted his message and—no, nobody but Heather could've made any sense of that. So... perhaps they'd forced her to write this? It wasn't something he'd put past Beck.

He read the message again, still finding his initial interpretation hard to believe, but nothing signaled she'd written the fax under duress. On the contrary.... He scanned the first few lines once more, and let out a rueful chuckle: if he wasn't careful, he'd end up as paranoid as old Oliver Adams. But he remembered that day as if it had happened yesterday: the concern in her voice; the kiss, unexpected but nice; the scent of her hair....

He hopped up from the chair and folded the fax before putting it in the back pocket of his jeans. He'd swing by the hospital, see if Hawkins was awake, get his opinion on the fax: maybe the agent would catch something he'd missed. And maybe Chavez too, if he could find him. Chavez had served under Beck for a few weeks, after all, so perhaps he could offer some more insight.

And then he'd have to talk to Todd again. If the fax was true, this might help him convince the governor to send troops to protect Jericho.

o0o

Hawkins looked exhausted and a little frazzled, but his gaze was sharp as he read the first lines of the fax Jake showed him. He lifted his gaze up to Jake's face, one eyebrow arched. "Irradiated ants?"

Jake shrugged self-consciously. "Private joke." He wasn't about to tell Hawkins more.

"Okay...." Hawkins went back to reading the rest of the fax. He took his time—Jake could tell by the movement of his eyes as he scanned page that he was reading the message several times over—before putting the fax down. "Well, Jake, you know her better than I do." He tapped the sheet with a finger. "Private jokes aside, you tell me: does this sound like her?"

"Yes, it does, but—." Jake snatched up the smudged fax page again and shook it. "Beck's defected? Why? Why now? I tried to tell him what was going on, but he was blind to the truth. Hell, the man never made a move without Cheyenne's say-so."

"I don't think you give him enough credit." Chavez was perched in the window, leaning against the sill. "Yes, Beck worked for the wrong crowd. But I can imagine him figuring it out, and acting accordingly." He shifted his attention to Hawkins. "Didn't you say you had to abandon your laptop?"

"Yeah." Hawkins nodded and grimaced. "Some hard-to-ignore evidence on there." He turned to Jake and indicated the fax with a limp hand. "I think we can assume that's real, and that it means what we think it means."

Jake didn't answer, but simply refolded the fax carefully. He had to agree with Hawkins. But, for some reason, the thought of Beck no longer following Cheyenne's orders didn't leave him as cheerful as it should.

He absently tapped the folded paper against the bed frame at the foot of Hawkins' bed. "Could this get Todd to help Jericho?"

Chavez unfolded his arms and planted his palms on the sill on either side of him. "I don't know, Jake. Texas'll have its hands full with its own borders. What sort of tactical advantage could getting involved in Jericho offer them?"

"It's—." Jake fell silent, running a hand across his face. _Crap_. Salt was Jericho's most valuable commodity, and Texas had plenty of that itself. There was nothing that they could offer the Texans; certainly nothing of enough value that Texas would risk openly supporting a rebel town smack in the middle of Cheyenne-controlled territory. He swallowed hard. He and Hawkins had risked everything to get that damned bomb to Texas; they'd started a civil war over it. And none of it would do Jericho a lick of good. They were on their own. "I need to go home." He shot a questioning glance in Hawkins' direction.

Hawkins offered him a slight, one-shouldered shrug. "Sorry, Jake. You're gonna have to go it alone for a while."

"Look," Chavez pushed off of the sill, "let me talk to a few people first. Call in some favors. See what I can jiggle loose. And then I'll come with you."

Jake stared at him. "Why would you do that?"

Chavez shrugged. "What good am I gonna do here? Texas got plenty of guys like me. Jericho, on the other hand, doesn't." Suddenly, he smirked. "Besides, any way I can throw a monkey wrench in Cheyenne's works sounds good to me."

Jake suddenly found himself a little choked up. Maybe Jericho wasn't quite as alone as he'd thought. He cleared his throat. "Thanks."

"Just gimme a few days."

"I don't have a few days." Jake shook his head, gesturing with the folded fax. "If Cheyenne's coming for Jericho...."

"Jake...?" Hawkins sounded a little amused, though he wasn't smiling. "It's eight hundred miles to Jericho, through territory occupied by Cheyenne. Unless you plan to steal that Cessna and fly yourself back—" he grinned wryly "—you're gonna need to make preparations. You gotta start thinking ahead, my friend; you can't afford to just go off half-cocked anymore."

o0o

"Governor, please." Jake pointed to the rumpled fax. "We're begging for your help. _I'm_ begging you. Please, don't turn your back on us."

It was late in the afternoon of his second day in Texas, a full day after he'd received news from Jericho, and Jake was growing more frustrated by the minute. It had taken him most of the day just to get another audience with the governor; a flock of aides and secretaries had apparently conspired to have him jump as many hoops as they could find. And much good it had done him: Todd seemed no more willing to help than he had the day before.

At least Chavez had managed to procure them an army truck, as well as some stocks of food and medicine, to take to Jericho. But what Jericho really needed was troops and firepower: there was no way the town could survive once the full might of the Cheyenne government came rolling down on them, even assuming Heather was right and Beck's battalion didn't simply stand aside.

Todd got up, rounded his desk, and settled himself against the edge. "Look, Jake.... Can I call you Jake? I sympathize with your plight, and that of your hometown. But I have twenty million people that depend on me to make the right decisions. I got Cheyenne troops massing on our borders to the north and west, and I simply can't afford to be seen helping you out. If I did that...." He shook his head. "Right now, we can probably still spin us shooting down those two fighters as a communications error, a mishap, just a diplomatic incident. But sending troops into Kansas, to support what Cheyenne considers a town in revolt? There's no amount of spin that can turn something like that into anything but an openly hostile act. And the rest of the world is divided; the UN basically paralyzed. Some nations have already acknowledged Tomarchio as the president's legal successor and recognized the Allied States, and most of the rest are only reluctantly backing Columbus. I'm hoping that'll change after we get the news about that bomb of yours out, but until then.... It's a precarious balance, and I need to make sure it doesn't swing any more Cheyenne's way." He paused a moment before he continued, "No, Jake, I'm sorry. For now, you'll have to manage on your own."

o0o

With no official support forthcoming, Chavez and Jake worked around the clock to collect whatever provisions they could wheedle out of Chavez' buddies. It had taken calling in every favor Chavez could remember to scrounge up even a half truck full of supplies. But then, much to Jake's relief, shortly before they'd planned to leave, word had come down the wire to Lackland that they were to offer medicine and gas and ammo and maps—whatever Jake needed, provided it could've come from anywhere but Texas.

Jake understood what Todd was doing: plausible deniability. If Cheyenne caught them, the governor could wash his hands in innocence and claim to have no knowledge of the entire affair. Jake would've much preferred to bring back an entire brigade to Jericho, but as it was... well, he supposed he should be grateful for whatever aid Texas did supply.

He was tightening the final straps on the canvas tarp over the cargo bed, when a tall army colonel dressed in fatigues sauntered up. "Jake Green? Mack Davies." He offered Jake a firm handshake. "The governor assigned me his liaison to your town. I've been briefed on your situation." His lopsided grin made his bushy mustache quiver. "Can't really get involved, but I can keep an eye on things, right? Make sure the other guy doesn't just waltz right over y'all."

When Chavez turned up, Davies produced another set of army fatigues for each of them. "Put these on. Needs be, we'll try bluff our way through." He shrugged, the mustache abruptly drooping. "Uniforms're all still the same. Only difference is this." He tapped the flag of Texas on his shoulder patch, and offered Jake and Chavez each a rectangle of velcroed cloth. Jake glanced down and recognized the hated twenty-one stars and vertical stripes of the Allied States. "Slap those on once we cross the border into Oklahoma. Oh, and I got some ID's too, but I'm not sure how much use those'll be. Our guys are good, but Cheyenne's changing their designs so often, it's hard to keep up. So let's try not put them to the test, okay?"

o0o

Apart from what Davies' presence might mean once they got to Jericho, Chavez appreciated the way it speeded their journey a little. Not only did the colonel turn out to be an amicable companion who knew his way around a map, his military credentials allowed them to pass easily through the many army checkpoints and roadblocks they ran into between San Antonio and the Oklahoma border. A few words from Davies, and the soldiers manning the checkpoints would wave them through with nothing but a curious glance at Jake and Chavez, or a cursory inspection of the cargo in the back.

Even so, they made slow progress. The checkpoints still required them to slow down and stop, and several times they were forced onto the shoulder while heavily armored convoys lumbered past, headed north and west to the borders with New Mexico and Oklahoma. Chavez stood beside the truck breathing in dust and watching them pass with a grim expression he found mirrored on the faces of the other two men. Some of the guys in those trucks were going to die: war was never fun, and civil war was by far the worst sort of conflict.

Watching yet another string of trucks pass, Chavez clenched his jaw at the thought that he'd spend his entire adult life trying to prevent just such a thing from happening. That these troops would soon come face to face with men who'd been their fellow soldiers up until a few months ago was the result of his failure. His, and Hawkins', and Cheung's, and the rest of their team. With the sunset casting a blood-red glow over the arid landscape, Chavez repeated the silent promise he'd made himself back in September: he might have failed to stop the bombs, or this war, but he'd do his damnedest to try and prevent any more innocent lives getting lost. It was as he'd told Jake: his skills were much better put to use in Jericho than they could ever be in Texas.

They crossed the border into Oklahoma several hours later, during the second night of their trip north. Clouds had moved in from the west, blocking out the stars, and the night was pitch black; they couldn't have asked for better conditions for an illicit border crossing. Having abandoned the last of the dirt tracks a few miles behind, they plodded cross country, the truck swaying heavily and throwing them about in the cab. Jake struggled to hold the wheel and keep the truck steady, the engine straining as they bounced over the uneven, rocky ground. Chavez had taped off the headlights, an old trick, so that nothing but a mere glimmer of light escaped, barely enough for Jake to avoid the scraggly trees and dry gullies that littered the landscape.

Squinting into the darkness, Chavez kept a lookout for any obstructions that might block their path, as well as enemy patrols, while Davies was on the radio with Texan border control, obtaining the latest intel about AS troop movements. They were forced to stop and kill the lights a couple of times while helicopters passed in the distance, the _thud-thud _of their rotors loud in the still night and their search lights dancing crazily over the rough ground. Much to Chavez' surprise, they made it across without being detected and their good fortune continued: keeping to the back roads wherever they could, they managed to avoid running into any Cheyenne patrols all across the Oklahoma panhandle.

But their luck changed once they reached Kansas.

Chavez was taking them north on another unpaved track, slowly driving through abandoned farm fields, weeds sprouting up quickly where once corn had grown, when he glimpsed movement in the side view mirror. Immediately wary, he kept one eye on the track, the other on the mirror, waiting.

There it was again: a spark of light reflecting on something metallic. He squinted, and noticed a thin trail of dust drifting up on the horizon. Someone was driving a car along the track at high speed. "Crap."

Alerted by the soft curse, Davies glanced up from the map he was navigating from. "What is it?"

"We're being followed." Even as Chavez spoke, the streamer of dust grew thicker, their pursuer quickly closing the distance between them.

"Who is it? Cheyenne?" Davies folded the map and stashed it in the dashboard, before touching his sidearm with a light hand. Chavez didn't think he was even aware of doing so.

Chavez shook his head. "Don't think so." He'd caught a glimpse of red in the dust; far as he knew, no army in the world used red for its vehicles. "Better wake Jake."

Jake had folded himself up into the corner between the bench and the door, having a well-deserved nap. Davies reached over to give him a shake and he started awake. "Wha—?" He yawned and scrubbed a hand across his face.

"We got trouble." With a nod of his head, Chavez indicated the mirrors. Jake leaned forward and peered out.

"Road gang?"

Chavez grimaced. Jake must've noticed the splotch of color too, and drawn the same conclusion he had; he was beginning to understand what Hawkins had seen in the man. "Looks that way."

"Can we outrun them?" Davies didn't sound very hopeful.

"In this thing?" Chavez shifted gears and the engine whined. "Not a chance in hell."

"Dammit." Jake twisted around in his seat and stuck his head out of the window to look back. "They're approaching fast."

Chavez didn't answer; he simply pushed the gas pedal a little deeper. There wasn't much cover to be found—the land around them was mostly flat and empty—but he'd spotted a small knoll rising up about half a mile ahead, and he figured that gaining the high ground would provide them a small advantage.

As soon as they reached the top of the rise, he jammed on the brakes. The truck came to a shuddering halt in a cloud of swirling dust. "Jake!" Chavez shoved open the door and jumped down, snatching his M16 from where it was propped behind the seat. "Grab the wheel and get the hell out of here. I'll hold them off."

"What? No!" Jake had scrambled out as well, and come running around the front of the truck.

"Just do it." Chavez dashed for a boulder next to the road. "Go!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jake hesitate a moment longer, before Davies leaned out and said something to him. With a last glance at Chavez, Jake got back into the cab and, a second later, the truck moved off. Chavez tried to push it from his mind and concentrate on the approaching vehicles.

Back in San Antonio, he'd stopped Jake right as he'd been about to climb into the driver's side of the cab. "You even know how to drive this rig?"

Jake had looked at him, and nodded. "I do." Chavez had waited another couple seconds before letting Jake go, waiting to see if he'd explain further, but Jake had kept silent.

Chavez hadn't needed to ask the question; he already knew the answer. Before he'd made up his mind to go back to Jericho and fight Cheyenne behind enemy lines, he'd checked Jake out. Checked him out thoroughly. Chavez smiled grimly at himself. Probably knew more about the guy than his own mother did. It was the way Jake had answered that mattered.

But you could never take the true measure of a man until you ended with your backs against the wall. And that—he flipped off the safety—seemed about to happen.

o0o

Even as he drove away, Jake kept casting quick glances in the mirror, trying to make out what was happening behind. As he watched, the windshield of the lead pickup exploded in a shower of shards, and it careened to a halt at an angle, one wheel in the ditch. The other trucks screeched to a stop behind it, men tumbling out and ducking for cover before firing wildly in their direction. Little puffs of dust rose from the road ahead where bullets struck, and there was a metallic _chink_ as something got hit in the back. Instinctively, Jake pulled his head between his shoulders, hunching over the wheel. _God, don't let them hit the gas cans...._

He stomped down on the gas pedal as far as it would go and forced the engine to its limits before risking another look in the mirror. Chavez must've scored another hit: one of the men was throwing up his arms and falling backwards. Then the road rose behind them, and Jake could no longer see what was going on.

He glanced at Davies, next to him. The colonel was leaning forward, using the mirror on the other side to look back the way they'd come. Once he realized the rise was blocking his view, he sat back and turned to Jake.

"We can't just leave Chavez." Jake eased up on the gas, ready to turn back.

"He'll be alright." Davies indicated with a gesture that Jake should keep up their speed. "It's what he was trained for. Your job is to get that stuff," he pointed over his shoulder before giving Jake a quick, wry smile, "and me, to Jericho."

"But—." The protest died on Jake's lips when another dust cloud rose into the sky up ahead. He squinted against the glare. "Oh no...."

"What?"

"There's someone ahead of us too." Jake stopped the truck and Davies raised his field glasses. If it was another part of the road gang, splitting up might turn out to be the worst decision they could've made.

Davies let out a long breath. "They're military." He offered Jake the glasses. "One of Cheyenne's patrols, I guess."

Jake lifted the glasses to his eyes, and the patrol jumped into clear view. Davies was right: it was an olive-green humvee with AS army markings on it. When he confirmed Davies' hunch was right, the Texan chuckled. Jake wasn't sure how running into a Cheyenne patrol was any better than more of the road gang, but Davies simply smirked when Jake gave him a questioning look.

"Let's go meet them."

o0o

It took just a couple of minutes to reach the patrol: two humvees of privates led by a corporal. Davies immediately jumped out of the truck, pulled himself up to his full height, and started chewing out the corporal and his men in a voice fit for an angry drill sergeant, while Jake waited in the truck, suppressing a grin. Although Jake only caught every third word or so, Davies' tirade clearly cowed the soldiers enough that they never questioned his authority. Instead, they saluted him stiffly, jumped back into their vehicles, and raced off to the top of the small hill.

Ten minutes later, one of the humvees returned to where they'd stopped the truck, bringing a bloodied Chavez back with it. He gestured to the small cut high on his cheek, the blood already drying. "Rock splinter." Jake cleaned the cut while Davies threatened the corporal some more with what the he'd do if they failed again to keep the area secure.

It wasn't until they'd left the patrol to mop up the road gang, and put another dozen miles and several road changes behind them, that Jake pulled over next to a small stand of trees. He turned to Davies.

"Colonel, you're...." Wordlessly, he shook his head, unsure what to believe: Davies was either insane, or very, very smart.

"Call me Mack." Davies' mustache twitched as he shrugged and grinned briefly at Jake. "And hey, they're supposed to keep these roads safe, right? Just tellin' 'em to do their damned job."

With a snort of laughter, Jake dropped from the cab; the adrenaline was slowly leaving his system, making him feel jittery, and he hoped stretching his legs would walk it off. As he rounded the back of the cargo bed, he had to admit, it was quite amusing to have Cheyenne's troops chase after highway robbers while they smuggled supplies into Jericho right under their noses.

"Crap!" Chavez's voice was muffled. He'd crawled into the back of the truck to survey the damage done by the handful of stray bullets that had hit them. Jake peered in and saw Chavez holding up a splintered wood box with a handle, looking decidedly unhappy.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Coffee grinder," Chavez thumped it down in annoyance on an ammo box. "Or it was."

"You brought beans?"

"Yup." Chavez indicated a small satchel lying on top of a crate. "Personal stash. Can't get a decent brew anywhere these days."

Jake had shaken his head in disbelief, but after they'd got back into the cab and he'd restarted the engine, he said, "You should talk to Heather. I think she's got a hand-powered grinder." He had a sudden memory of the bitter taste of the strong coffee that she'd made for him the day before they'd gone to Black Jack. The day before Heather had left for New Bern....

"Is that _giant ants _Heather?" Davies sounded amused.

The question pulled Jake from his thoughts. "Um, yeah." Seemed like everyone knew about the ants now. Maybe he shouldn't've used the trip to Rogue River as his first clue to Heather that it had been him writing the fax; maybe he should've thought of something else.

Chavez grinned. "She deciphers coded faxes _and_ has a coffee grinder? I think I'm startin' to like this girl." He tilted his head, a thoughtful expression settling on his face. "Colonel Hoffman was quite impressed, too, I heard. And you said Beck hired her as his liaison to that other town?"

"New Bern." Jake shifted into a higher gear. "Yeah, he did." He hadn't been very happy about that. "That was why Heather was able to steal the page from the aerial survey and keep Beck from finding the bomb in Hawkins' back yard."

Chavez chuckled. "So, she's Jericho's own Mata Hari?"

"What?" Jake's head whipped around and he glared at Chavez. "No. No, she's not like that at all."

"Okaay...." Chavez wiggled his brows and slid down in his seat until he could plant a booted foot against the dash. "Easy, boy."

For a long minute, the men were silent, the drone of the engine the only sound in the cramped cab. Then Chavez spoke up again. "Hey, what happened to that gorgeous tall blonde I thought you were with?"

"Who?" It took Jake a few seconds to realize what Chavez meant. "Emily?" He flushed guiltily, suddenly realizing he hadn't spend much time thinking about her at all. He hoped Heather had told her about the fax exchange: Em would be worried. More worried than he'd been about her, that was for sure. "We're—." He stopped, not really wanting to talk about Emily. "Just get me the map. We should be coming up on that turnoff soon."

He felt Chavez' amused gaze on him and pretended he didn't notice. After a moment, Chavez pulled the map from the dashboard with a shrug, and gave it to Davies before sliding down even further in his seat and closing his eyes.

o0o

"So, what do you propose?" Davies was studying the rough sketch of Jericho's layout that Jake had drawn on the back of one of the maps. They'd stopped in a patch of forest some fifteen miles south of Jericho to decide on their final approach.

"Go west around Bass Lake." Jake indicated the lake on the map. He wasn't keen to take the detour, but he knew there was no way they could come straight in on Route 6. Not with the number of AS patrols they'd seen in the area. Davies might've fooled that corporal back there; this close to Jericho the roadblocks along Route 6 were likely to be manned by men less inclined to take an angry army colonel at his word.

"Long way 'round," Chavez remarked. He looked up at the sky. "Gonna be dark in a couple hours."

"We'll be in Jericho well before dark," Jake assured him. Not that it mattered much; he could find his way around Jericho blindfolded if needed. But a lone army truck rumbling along after dark might raise the sort of suspicion they didn't need.

"Well." Davies folded the map. "It's your home turf. You should know best."

A few minutes later, the heavy army truck was again lurching along the dirt road, throwing up a fresh plume of dust in its wake. Jake kept the pace moderate: while the truck was sturdy, and had faithfully seen them this far, they'd pushed the engine to its limit, and he wanted to have some horsepower left in case they needed it in a hurry.

"What's that?" Chavez pointed at something on the horizon, squinting.

Jake pulled the truck over, and Davies got out his field glasses. "Looks like an army roadblock." He handed the binoculars to Chavez, who grunted in annoyance before passing them on to Jake for a look. Jake lifted them to his eyes, blinking rapidly as the checkpoint swam into view. A tan humvee was blocking the road, a handful of soldiers milling around it. He cursed under his breath. With Route 6 out of the question, this was the shortest route into Jericho, but if the AS had it blocked, they'd need to go around the Levinson farm and try again from due west. It'd add at least another hour, maybe two, to their driving time.

And home was so close, he could almost taste it.

He raised the binoculars again for a final look, and then frowned as something about the distant scene struck him as not quite right. He tinkered with the knobs, trying to make the focus even sharper than it already was. Then, as he realized what was bugging him, he gave a relieved laugh. "They're not AS." He grinned at the other two men. "I recognize Carl Mead, and Randall. Those are Jericho guys."

He shifted back into gear, driving a little faster than he had before, eager to get home, and no longer so worried about the engine blowing up on him. But as they neared the roadblock, the Rangers manning it fanned out and ducked behind the humvee. Suddenly, a half dozen guns were pointed at them.

"You might wanna slow down," Chavez warned.

Jake eased up on the gas, cursing at himself for his stupidity. He should've realized that when the Rangers saw an AS army truck barreling down on them at high speed, they wouldn't expect it to be friendly.

He coasted to a stop a dozen yards from the humvee. Randall, his eyes half-covered with a helmet that was at least a size too big, approached wearily. Jake knew a dozen weapons were trained on them: not just the ones poking out from behind the humvee, but ones held by men hiding in the ditches on either side of the road too. He couldn't help smile; they'd learned a lot since last winter.

"Hey." Jake rested an elbow on the open window.

Randall pushed the helmet back with one finger and blinked up. "Jake?"

Jake smirked. "One and the same."

"It's Jake Green!" Randall waved wildly at the other Rangers and they lowered their guns. Most of them wandered over towards the truck, curiosity evident on their faces. Randall turned back to Jake. "Your brother said you'd be back, but he didn't say when." He peered into the truck. "Who're they?"

"Colonel Mack Davies, of the Independent Republic of Texas. And—" Jake realized he'd never got a first name. "—Chavez. And that," he pointed a thumb at the truck behind him, "Compliments of Texas. We got food, medicine, ammo, some other stuff."

"Awesome. We could really use that." Randall gestured at one of the Rangers to clear the road; a moment later the humvee rolled aside until Jake had enough room to squeeze the big truck past.

Once beyond the checkpoint, he stopped again. "What's the situation here? We saw a lot of AS Army activity around Route 6."

"Yeah." Randall frowned. "I think Gray's still negotiating with Hoffman, the guy in charge now that Beck's working with us." He guffawed. "Who'd have thunk it's come to that, eh? Anyway, you better get that stuff into town. People'll be glad to learn we got some extra supplies." He indicated the walkie-talkie hanging from his belt and shrugged. "I'd call it in, but Beck says not to use the radios unless it's a real emergency. He says they're not secure."

"He's probably right." Much to his chagrin, Jake found himself agreeing with the major. "That's why we brought radios too." He grinned at Randall. "Don't worry, I know the way."

He put the truck into gear and they lurched off once more, but this time it was just a few more miles, and he'd be home. He felt a thrill when the tall steeple of the church on Main Street rose on the horizon. He'd been gone less than a week, but it felt longer than the five years he'd been away before.

As he slowly drove by the first houses of the town, joy surged through him; he couldn't imagine why he had ever wanted to leave.

**Disclaimer**: this story is based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series _Jericho_. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it nor was any infringement of copyright intended. Please do not redistribute elsewhere without the author's consent.


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